Loose Lips and Empty Bottles
by thenewmissyvonne
Summary: Cloud and Tifa try to settle into normal lives a year after Advent Children. Problem is, their's have never been normal lives. The road to normality is a difficult and painful, though ultimately rewarding, one.
1. 1

Combing her hair sitting on the window ledge, Tifa watched the early morning sun creep up over the buildings. It would be another hot one today. She pulled herself up, letting out a tired sigh, and pulled on some shorts. No use making breakfast in her underpants.

Quietly stepping into the hall, she heard little voices whispering. She poked her head into Denzel and Marlene's room to find them sitting on their beds, talking to each other.

They both smiled at her and made to speak, but TIfa lifted her finger to her lips in a motion indicating silence and whispered, "Ten minutes."

She removed herself from her door and suddenly became aware of a steady snore coming from the room at the top of the stairs. She tiptoed over and opened the door slightly.

Cloud lay fully dressed on top of his sheets, face up with his head tilted towards the wall, emitting snores with every inhale. Tifa bit her knuckles to keep from laughing, but made her way into the room anyway, smiling.

She gently sat down on the end of the bed and began by untying his boots. One by one she slipped them off his feet and put them under his bed. She removed his socks and then his gloves before setting to work on his belt.

Gingerly did she undo the belt buckle and pull it out, managing to do so without waking him.

His sweater would be impossible to remove without waking him, thought Tifa, but his trousers were a different story. Before she knew what she was doing, she had unbuttoned them and was about to start scooting them down his hips when she caught sight of the dark blue boxers she had bought him.

_Oh man_, she thought, _maybe taking off his pants was a little much_. She buttoned them back up slowly when the snoring stopped.

Cloud inhaled sharply and turned over, away from Tifa. He curled up on his side and let out a sleepy moan. Tifa couldn't help it this time. She let out a giggle.

Now resigned to waking him, Tifa put a hand on his shoulder and gave a small shake. Another moan. His hand weakly attempted to bat her away, but the sunlight coming into the room meant that he was going to wake up sooner rather than later.

He rolled back onto his back and rubbed his eyes, looking at Tifa.

"Morning."

Tifa smiled. "Morning, sleepyhead. When did you get in?"

"Late. I went drinking." He looked at Tifa, who was holding his socks and gloves. "Thank you."

Tifa stood up. "Come on, I'm making eggs. I'll make you a Bloody Mary."

Cloud smiled softly and sat up, still rubbing his eyes. He waited until Tifa was out of the room and he could hear her footsteps on the stairs before taking off his sweater and trousers.

Small steps came to his door, and Marlene rushed in, giving Cloud a hug around his lower waist before immediately pulling away. "You smell gross, Cloud!"

"Good morning to you, too." Cloud was still smiling through his pounding headache. Marlene had gone to his bureau and brought him back a new shirt, a long-sleeved brown pullover.

He raised his arms over his head and Marlene carefully pulled his sweaty shirt off. Cloud sat in his boxers without self-consciousness and Marlene marched around his room in her little nightgown, the seven-year-old mothering him as best she could.

Grabbing the brown pullover, he slipped into it and stood up. At this point, Denzel came into the room and grabbed Cloud's hand. "Come _on_," urged Denzel.


	2. 2

Tifa stood lazily over the stove, sprinkling chives into the eggs. As they cooked, she put four buttered slices of bread into the hot oven and made her way over to the bar side of the first floor. She grabbed some vodka from the shelf and tomato juice from the icebox.

She poured them into a glass and thought about Cloud's new habit. He was going out to drink almost every night now, either going to other bars or just here with her at Seventh Heaven. She supposed it was partly her fault for having ever pushed drinks on him in the first place.

On the one hand, sober Cloud was tense and introspective to a fault, and his antisocial tendencies worried her. After a few drinks, however, he'd begin to relax and even laugh a little, catching her off-guard with smiles and jokes. Once he had even been tipsy enough to flirt with her, or so she had thought. She recalled the memory that made her blush and feel funny.

"Teef, you're so good to me. I really wish I...." Cloud trailed off. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were glassy. He wasn't smiling but there was a lightness in the way he carried himself that belied his pleasure.

Tifa laughed it off and poured him another whiskey sour, but inside her heart had leapt right into her throat, pounding excitedly. She tried not to read too much into the comment, as he seemed to change the subject immediately afterwards, but she couldn't hide her girlish grin...

Tifa, now pouring some hot sauce and lemon wedges into the tomato juice/vodka concoction, smiled at the memory. She then heard some thumps coming down the stairs in pairs. "Here they come," she thought.

She walked back into the kitchen to find Cloud being led down the stairs by both children, a sleepy look still plastered on his face. He looked paler than usual, thought Tifa, and she immediately handed him the drink.

"Some hair of the dog for you," she murmured as she went to get the eggs and toast. Marlene and Denzel sat down at the rickety breakfast table.

"Mmf. Thanks." Cloud immediately took a big gulp of the cocktail and sat down heavily.

After breakfast, Tifa began preparing the bar. Cloud had gone upstairs to change for work. Tifa thought some more about his newfound interest in alcohol.

Surely he must feel more relaxed while drinking, she thought, or he wouldn't do it so much. _Or maybe he does it because you push it on him all the time_, she thought. She shook that uncomfortable thought out of her mind.

She certainly did prefer him with a drink or two in him these days. She definitely offered him a drink whenever the situation arose. He was so much happier, so much easier to deal with when he wasn't his tense, neurotic self. Still, she had rarely seen him get shitfaced, and got the idea that he reserved that mode for when he was out of her sight. Maybe to spare her, maybe to spare himself.

Still, she had seen him many times now when he had had one or two too many. Almost instantly the relaxed, laughing Cloud would be replaced by a Cloud more morose and reckless than usual. He'd go up to his room and she'd find him sleeping peacefully as ever the next morning, and he'd go on his way to work.

Even so, he always made his deliveries on time. He was still working as hard as ever, and these days even making more time to spend with Marlene and Denzel. The addition of a few drinks each day did little to change his schedule too terribly.

_But not lately...the past few weeks she hadn't seen him much..._

Cloud had already left to make a few morning deliveries. She wouldn't see him until the evening, probably after dinner.


	3. 3

Cloud walked briskly into the morning sun following breakfast. He could already tell it was going to be hot. He had elected to wear no sweater today, instead wearing his brown pullover with his black slacks and boots. It was better than the short sleeve option, which would reveal the faint scars of his Geostigma, which, though now the worst of it had gone, still made him wince to see.

His head buzzed from the cocktails. The mixture of vodka, tomato juice, hot sauce, pepper, and lemons had dulled his headache, but he felt a little unsteady after them as well. He could just as easily have taken aspirin, but instead he took Tifa's drinks.

It was getting harder and harder to be around her these days. He was torn between wanting to distance himself from her and wanting to confess his profound longing. He wasn't even sure what he wanted from her. He knew he wanted more than what they had, but was frightened of the implications of such a move.

He had never been intimate with anybody, much less with the person he'd been closest to in his entire young life.

He sighed and mounted his bike, which was already quite warm from the sunlight. Revving the motor and starting out on his way, he thought of the peaceful way in which he had awoken this morning.

Nimble hands on his trouser buttons. The thought was more than a little arousing, but he had been half asleep. When he woke up and blinked at the person sitting on the foot of his bed, the sunlight framed her features, making her seem haloed.

He had been out cold before she eased him into consciousness. He was growing fond of the carefree feeling associated with alcohol and the dreamless sleep that followed it, but his hangovers were getting worse. He had never had much experience with alcohol growing up, being underage for the most part and trapped in an underground laboratory in the meantime...

No, no, his thoughts mustn't go there.

_Anyway_, his thoughts mused, bypassing the unpleasant thoughts from just before, _I'm just living the life that most men my age are living_.

_But they're not supporting two young children_, he then thought, disagreeing with himself. Cloud was used to these inner dialectics, thinking through things with an intensity usually reserved for those in solitary confinement. He didn't talk so much as think about talking.

_It's irresponsible_, he chided himself, _the way you carry on. You drink too much_.

_But I feel so much more human when I do. Tifa and I drink and we carry on normal conversations_.

Cloud coughed and stopped his bike. Standing over it, he removed his goggles and rubbed his temples. The heat was getting to him, and the drinks were wearing off, his headache returning. He looked out into the distance, admiring the red plateaus and dusty mountains. The sun was already high in the sky and the shadows were growing shorter.

Just what had conspired last night? Cloud lazily started up the motorcycle again. He had gone to Johnny's bar..._Johnny's Heaven_, the bar opened up by fellow Nibelheim resident and Tifa's friend Johnny.

Ugh, he could guess what happened. He went after work, 5-ish, probably. Probably ordered the same dish he had always gotten, the same rice with sour meat and a side of 4 or 5 pints of stout. Presumably one or two shots of liquor later, he walked his motorcycle home and passed out on his bed. That's three nights in a row now.

Still, the temptation to drink was mighty. He'd drink with the hopes of running into Tifa at home, the kids in bed. He'd drink with the hopes that he might just know what to say in such a situation.

He'd rehearse the scene in his head again and again, stopping at the point where he'd come across Tifa at home alone and would open his mouth to say something.

But what did he want to say, exactly? He didn't know what he wanted. He was completely muddled when it came to sex. He wasn't the bitter, frustrated, and horny 15-year-old anymore, trapped in Shinra training barracks furiously and hopelessly stuck on his childhood crush.

The Cloud today couldn't put thoughts of Tifa and thoughts of sex together anymore. He couldn't even imagine being that close in proximity to her, as it made him terribly nervous...

He banished the thoughts from his mind as he bit his lower lip. He had work to do, and his headache was going away. He had to focus.


	4. 4

Sunday nights were never terribly busy. Tifa looked around at her regulars, and then at the clock. She was physically beat, having slept a miserable four and a half hours the night before. She was glad to have woken up so early, though, as she thought of the tender way in which she woke Cloud. Her head buzzed from work, unable to rest.

She looked around at the clock as she washed glasses. It was 9:30. Cloud should be coming back soon, if he hadn't gone to the bar again.

As if on cue, she heard a motorcycle pulling in behind the building. A lot of people drove motorcycles, but she knew this had to be Cloud.

"Ok, guys, I'm closing up early tonight. Last call." People made their last drink orders and kept up with their conversations. Tifa hustled to get the cocktails mixed and the beers poured in preparation for Cloud coming. Tonight they'd be able to relax together.

True enough, the back door clicked and she heard Cloud's heavy boots thump across the floor. Tifa left the bar briefly to check into the kitchen.

He sat at the kitchen table unlacing his boots. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and light sweat dotted his shirt. "Hi, Teef," he said, not raising his head.

"Hi, Cloud." Tifa didn't move from the doorway. She was observing him. His movements were tight and quick, and his shoulders seemed tense. He was thinking hard and and avoiding meeting her gaze. Sober as a judge, and about as calm as a rabbit that knows it's in the crosshairs.

He stood. "I'm taking a shower. I'll be back down." He then picked up his boots and disappeared up the stairs.

While he was gone, Tifa quickly poured a drink to calm her own nerves. She sipped it rather quickly, listening to the shower noises from upstairs. She blinked and surveyed the bar. One older gentleman sitting by himself in somewhat of a funk had his eyes locked on her breasts.

"Hey!" she snapped as she snapped her fingers, effectively snapping him out of it. She wasn't normally short with customers, but she was feeling especially tense for some reason. The gentleman merely smiled at her, left a generous tip on the counter, and made his way out.

"You know, Miss, I come a long way to be here. I come here to see you," he leered, again staring pointedly at her bosom.

"Out! It's a Sunday night, for crying out loud."

As everybody filed out of the bar one by one until it was finally empty, still the sounds of the shower upstairs continued. Tifa was forced to pour the drink she had so carefully made for Cloud down the sink, so diluted was it becoming with the melting ice.

Finally she heard the taps turning. She was still very awake from working all night, and she was suddenly quite restless. Soon came the familiar thumps of Cloud coming down the stairs. He was yawning.

"You seem about ready to go to sleep," Tifa mused. "You still want something? A nightcap?"

"Sure, definitely," he said sleepily, without conviction, "and maybe something to eat? I'm starving." He sat down in the kitchen chair and put his elbows on the table, stretching out his arms in front of him.

Tifa smiled softly. "Of course." With her back to him, she began to make him a sandwich.

"So tonight we had a bit of a rush around eight. You were right about that special; we made a lot of money tonight. Barrett called; he wants to take Marlene and Denzel out tomorrow afternoon. He's picking them up after school. The kids would be back Wednesday night. If you want, maybe you and I could do something tomorrow when you're done working, or maybe you could take the day off too. It's your call," she babbled, finishing making the sandwich.

She brought the plate to the kitchen table only to find Cloud snoozing on top of it, his face buried in his arms. His damp hair was beginning to spike in a familiar fashion.

She touched his arm gently, and he snapped awake. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, blinking.

"Come on, you can eat this later. Let's get you off to bed." Cloud knew better than to protest; besides, he was too tired. He trudged back up the stairs, sliding his feet from step to step.

After putting away all the foodstuffs, Tifa followed him up the stairs. His light was already off.

"Hey, you. Hold on a second." She turned on his bedside light, which cast the room in a pale yellow glow.

Cloud looked at Tifa, who was examining his face. His eyes quickly focused when she was close enough that the delicate ends of strands of her hair lightly touched his cheeks. Cloud immediately and uncomfortably snapped to wakefulness. He could see Tifa's large wine-colored eyes clearly as day looking at his indirectly; he felt his face grow hot, suddenly self-conscious.

"What?" he asked.

"You look terrible. I'm getting you something to help you sleep; you can't work tomorrow."

"What?" he asked again. "Why? What?"

Tifa had gone to the medicine cabinet in the washroom. She wasn't just poking fun; he did indeed look terrible. Paler than usual, large bags under his eyes, and with worrisome creases from furrowing his eyebrows more than was necessary; he seemed older than his young 24 years. He didn't actually have to stay home the next day; perhaps Tifa was thinking wishfully. She had never known him to skip work in recent times. But maybe he'd concede this time.

Tifa returned to Cloud's room with a glass of cloudy water and two pills. "Drink this," she instructed, placing the glass and pills into Cloud's hands.

"Tifa, I've got to go to work tomorrow," he protested, but he swallowed the pills and hot water anyway.

"You don't. Really, you haven't taken a real day off in forever. You certainly owe yourself one by now. Take the kids to school tomorrow."

Cloud could feel himself losing the argument, but liking that Tifa was sitting so close to him, even if in a clinical way. Things had been so tense between them of late.

"You need sleep." She took the glass from his had and set it aside, pushing him back down on the pillow.

"Turn over," she said, still in a doctorly, authoritative tone. Cloud did as he was told and suddenly felt Tifa's hand slowly going in circles on his back, lightly rubbing his shoulders. After about three minutes of her warm hand stroking his back, his eyelids seemed heavy just as the sleep aids promised.

Cloud slept.


	5. 5

He dreamt. Wild, fantastic dreams that left him completely the instant his eyes opened. He was sweating and his heart beat rapidly. What did he dream? He tried, vainly, to recall them.

He tossed off the oven-like covers (he couldn't remember ever getting under them) and sat up, shaking his head. He felt disgustingly hot, but all in all he felt more refreshed than he had in days. He glanced at the clock. 10:20 in the morning. Not bad! He hadn't slept in this late for as long as he could remember. He stood up and opened the window, the blinds of which had been thoughtfully closed.

He took off his shirt and examined himself in the mirror. He seemed to have more color, more blood flowing. Good. His eyes strayed from their blue counterparts to his shoulders and arms, scarred and marred. He recounted each individual wound. He touched lightly the section on his shoulder where he had been completely run through just a year ago. The scar was still pink and raised, but most pain had gone from it. He turned around and glanced over his shoulder at his back. Many fewer scars; he had rarely retreated. The most prominent ones on his back were from his complete impalements from his foe, a year ago and those from his youth, that fateful day at Nibelheim.

Looking at himself in the mirror made him stressed-out. He'd begin to remember unpleasant things, and he couldn't think of his body but having been ruined. He could remember clearly the clear skin he once had had, which was now pocked with wounds and the remnants of the Geostigma. It had begun to really bite into his flesh before it was cured. The skin there was smooth and slightly red, like a burn.

Dropping to the floor, he started idly doing repetitions. 50 push-ups, 50 more. He stopped in the middle of one: 10:20?

He got up quickly and slipped on a sweater and some trousers. He clambered down the stairs to see a calm Tifa reading a book and drinking coffee at the kitchen table.

"Marlene? Denzel?" he asked.

She didn't look up, but instead drank a sip of her coffee, smiling. "Left an hour and a half ago."

"Damn it. You should have woken me up."

This time she met his eyes. "No, you deserved to sleep in. Don't worry, though: Marlene kissed you good-bye before she left, you just don't remember it."

Cloud let out a tiny smile. Knowing that Marlene had left a thoughtful little peck made him feel warm inside.

"Do you want a drink?" Tifa asked.

"S-sure," said Cloud uneasily. He hadn't felt this sober in days, and honestly it felt good to wake up with a clean system. But he couldn't turn Tifa down. Even in the morning, still in her long linen day slacks and an off-white halter, she still looked like a knockout. The way her hair was pinned back loosely and how she had a pencil carefully placed over her ear made him feel oddly as if he was intruding. She looked so at home. He never felt at home.

She closed her book and got up. Cloud remained standing, regarding her with a glazed look.

"I think I'm going to sit outside," he said suddenly. He pulled one of the kitchen chairs and took it out the door with him as he heard Tifa utter an "ok Cloud" behind him.

He sat down in the morning sun, shielding his eyes from the light. It was already quite warm, and the heat radiated from the asphalt under him.

Maybe that drink would be welcome. He didn't even know what to do in her presence any more. With Denzel and Marlene away at school, they were alone. He didn't know how to act around her or even what to say. For all the times he had rehearsed scenes like this, he was always at a loss for ideas.

He squinted in the sunlight. He was supposed to be working. It felt oddly like playing hooky. He stared down at his bare feet. He began to mentally search for things to talk about with Tifa. Maybe he'd just go to work late...

Before he could make up his mind, he heard the door opening. He looked over his shoulder in time to see Tifa with her book between her teeth, her coffee in her right hand, and another chair in her left; she seemed to be maneuvering the door pretty well with her hips.

In a jolting rush of memory, elements of his dreams came back in a forceful déjà-vu: those same little hips between his hands, his chin on her shoulder.... He blushed as he thought of it. He strained to remember what else the dreams were about, but he wasn't about to guess.

Tifa set her things down next to him and went inside to retrieve his breakfast. After coming back out, she resumed her post reading and sipping on her coffee.

The minutes passed. He had just finished his toast and gin and tonic when Tifa closed her book triumphantly.

"Two more chapters left!" she announced to no one in particular. Cloud didn't regard her, but instead shut his eyes lazily in the sun.

"So. What are you reading these days?" Tifa asked, groping for small talk. After all they had been through together, talking about the banal was almost an insurmountable task.

"Me?" Cloud straightened himself. "I guess I'm not reading anything right now."

"What was the last thing you read?"

"I don't remember. I don't read books, really."

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"The last one I remember reading," Cloud said suddenly, stirring from his repose, "was that one that everyone in town was reading. I can't remember what it's called. From when we were younger. About a boy, he went on adventures..."

"Ohh...I think I know which one you're talking about. About the boy with the dog? And that bear?"

"Yes, that one."

"I can't remember what it was called, either. When did you read that? It's a little young for you."

"When I just came to Midgar. I was 14."

"You really haven't read anything since you were 14?" Tifa asked. She hadn't foreseen this conversation, but she welcomed it gladly. It was turning up interesting little facts, as boring was the premise.

Cloud didn't answer. He held his right hand over his eyes for shade. "I'm going inside. Um, catch you later," he added a little stupidly, trying to be funny. Tifa snorted.

"I'll catch you later, Cloud."


	6. 6

She came back from her run two hours later only to find him doing pull-ups in his closet at an alarming rate. Upon noticing her presence in the doorway, he slowed down and let himself drop to his feet.

"Tifa! Teef, I remembered it, I think. _The End of the Mountain_."

"Wha...?" said Tifa, still out of breath, before their conversation came back to her. "Oh! Oh! That's it!"

He was almost smiling, one corner of his mouth turned slightly upward. Tifa's eyes wandered to his sweat-soaked shirt, the front merely dotted and the underarms sopping. The smell of it was kind of attractive, she thought. Like Cid's cigarettes, there were some smells that at the same time disgusted her and made her a little excited.

She invited herself into his room and lay on his bed belly-down. "What else do you remember about those days?"

He seemed to think for a second, staring into space. "It's all muddled." He frowned.

"Ah, well, let's forget it. What do you want to do today?" she asked him.

He shrugged exaggeratedly and pulled a shirt from his open bureau drawer. _Leave and give me some privacy_, he thought furiously and self-consciously at Tifa, and when she didn't, he retreated into the closet to change. Pulling the door shut, he thought he could hear her snickering. His heart was still pounding from the exercise, but it was exacerbated with her presence. He finished changing his shirt in the cramped closet in complete darkness, and when he came out, she was gone.

"Tifa...?" he asked his empty room. He scratched his neck and looked around cautiously.

"Come down!" he heard from the bar. He padded down the stairs and slipped around the corner to the bar. Tifa was struggling with the cork of an unopened bottle of wine.

"Isn't it a little early?" he asked her. She opened the bottle with a satisfying _pop_ and set it on the counter.

"Well, the kids aren't coming back tonight, and I was thinking of opening the bar in a few hours."

"Wait, the kids aren't coming back?" Cloud's heart sank and he resignedly grabbed two glasses from the shelf.

"No, I told you, they're with Barrett until the day after tomorrow...you might not remember. You were falling asleep when I told you," she said, pouring.

Cloud downed his glass in one go. He poured himself some more. The wine was warm, and the bar was hot. He still felt sticky; this weather was oppressive. He didn't want the kids to be gone...even if it was with Barrett. _You're not Marlene's real father. Nor Denzel's_, he told himself. Still, he had gotten rather dependent on their being there in the past few months. He bristled as he remembered not being woken to see them off this morning.

"You should have gotten me up this morning. I didn't even say good-bye."

"Cloud, they're not gone forever. It's just two days."

"Saying good-bye is important." He toyed with his glass before he finished it, bitterly.

Tifa had barely started her first glass. "Easy there." She waited patiently. After another glass or so, he'd calm down and be personable again. She hoped he didn't go overboard; she had never seen him truly smashed, and she didn't much care to.

He shook his head. "I need them around. I don't know."

Tifa smiled softly. "You know, Cloud, you'll make a great father someday. You already are."

"I'll never be a father." He said this quickly and without much need for consideration. He spun his glass around slowly, watching the little red drop in the bottom slide with each gyration.

"Why not? If you don't mind my asking..." Tifa asked, second-guessing herself at the last minute. She never knew where the two of them stood in regards to each other. She was always afraid of toeing some invisible line.

He didn't look up from his glass. He wanted to say, _Who knows what chemicals I still have in my system? What if I'd end up poisoning them?_ He quickly added, "I just don't plan on it." He reached for the wine again.

"What do you want?" he asked her back. "What do you want when you grow up?" He immediately chided himself for using the childish term "grow up" instead of "get older." He couldn't help but sound stupid half the time, he thought.

"I don't know. I guess I want kids, but Marlene and Denzel are enough. If I spent the rest of my life with somebody I cared for, I suppose that would be enough." She glanced at him carefully. She had longed for such a life, it was true, that she'd share with Cloud. But she couldn't imagine what it'd be like. She couldn't even imagine hugging him; intimacy was not something they shared.

Cloud hadn't reacted the way she'd hoped. She was hoping something in her declaration would make him take the hint, but he showed no sign of understanding. Instead, he said, "Well, whoever it is, he had better treat you well."

After hearing her plans for the future, he felt a knot grow in his stomach. How he wished he could be that somebody! He couldn't see a way, though: he had long been resigned to a future alone. He did sincerely wish Tifa happiness. He hoped he wouldn't be too jealous of whomever it was she would end up with.

Tifa gulped down the lump in her throat along with her wine. Why was it so hard for him to understand? She leaned down on the bar across from Cloud. "I'll be sure to have you be best man." She tried her best to make her laugh sound natural.

Cloud cracked a smile. Already more at ease, he poured himself a third glass. "More like worst man."

"No! Best man. Best man. You know you're the best. Though you could be my maid of honor if you like, I think we have a nice purple dress somewhere..." Tifa breathed easy. This was much less difficult. Talking about anything remotely serious brought them both down. Light-hearted was the way to go, it seemed.

He snickered and blushed. "We're never discussing that again..." he said, though he was grinning as he said it.

"Really, Cloud, with as long as your hair is getting these days, you probably won't even need a wig."

"Shut up."

"You're just angry because I was prettier!"

"If you were really prettier, Teef, why'd he pick me? Why did I have to be the one to go to the back room? He's lucky I didn't slice him into tiny pieces." Tifa spit out her mouthful of wine laughing. This got a real smirk out of Cloud, who wiped off the specks of Tifa's red wine from his cheeks and lips.

"Dare I ask what happened in that back room?" Cloud's face turned a deeper hue. His cheeks were very red from the wine and the joking. He poured himself a fourth, more generous glass.

"Oh wow, it's only 2:00," he said suddenly, and then burst out laughing. Tifa, arguably the more sober of the two, poured herself glass number two. This was the Cloud she had come to like: joking, stupid, laughing, and silly. He kept scratching his neck.

Tifa giggled. "Oh, Cloud."

"What?"

"Nothing."

He sat on the edge of the barstool, his feet dangling childishly. "It's so hot," he sighed, rolling up his sleeves. She could see the bulges of his biceps.

"Make a muscle," she said. He obliged, and she felt his arm, marveling. His muscles weren't out of proportion, but they were substantial. She felt the tense energy stored in it until he loosened up.

From this close up she could see every pore on his face. He was staring off into space some ways behind her, so she had the advantage. His pale skin had the brilliant rush of color that comes with health and wine, and his lips were stained red from the drink. Two windows of startling blue blinked lazily under long lashes, and his too-long blond hairs were falling into his face in wisps. The juxtaposition of color and the nuances of texture were enough to give him a surreal look, like an almost-but-not-quite-real painting. His lips pursed, as if he was about to voice an idea.

She bit her own lip when suddenly their eyes met. Their faces were maybe a foot away. There was something of a spark that resulted, and almost instantly both turned their gazes away. Tifa let go of his arm, backing off from the bar.

"I'm going for a walk," Cloud said in a detached voice that was not his own.


	7. 7

Outside he walked at a rapid pace swearing wildly to himself. _What is wrong with you? Why can't you stand to be alone with her??_ He mentally kicked himself. 24 years old, he thought, and still he couldn't figure out the adult thing to do.

Whenever he looked at her these days, he was caught in a web of admiration and even lust, as so demonstrated by his dreams last night. He couldn't bring himself, however, to admit even one fraction of that to her or even to himself. He was so afraid of getting close to her in any possible way imaginable, and his brain played through again and again every word he had said to her that day to analyze where he might have goofed. Cloud imagined briefly what would have happened had he not broken away from that spark, from that instant, really, and kissed her.

He shook his head violently at the thought of it. He couldn't do it. He didn't know how to anything romantic, not even in his wildest dreams. His dreams of her were deeply, shamefully sexual in ways he didn't think he was capable. He was wrong to have had them. He was wrong to want his best friend in this sick, sick way.

It was probably just an extension of messed-up brain functions anyway, this feeling. He didn't know where his natural self finished and his cerebrally altered self began. Again his thoughts trailed off to a basement years in the past...

_No_, he thought. _Not now. Not now_. But it was useless.

Before his years-long detainment, he had been still just a kid. He had been a late bloomer in every sense. The first few days of his capture were still horrifically, terribly in his memory. The utter shock of what had been happening to him had affected him deeply.

The Cloud at present shivered, hot as it was, as his mind trespassed into this unwelcome, familiar territory. Even with the four glasses of wine still buzzing in his head, his recollections of those first few days were painful and close.

He punched himself in the arm, hard. Still the thoughts were there. He did it again, and again, until it was in time with his hasty footsteps. It wasn't working. The other people on the sidewalk were looking at him.

Breathing deeply and willing with all his might, he commanded his thoughts to go in a different direction. The hot sun beat down his his head and he was starting to sweat again. He felt nauseous. His mind, in reaction to his utter aversion, was proceeding to play back selective captured memories, mere split seconds, remembered images, from over a span of years. He grabbed the nearest wall for support and winced in the sunlight, looking to see where he was.

A diversion, luckily, was immediately in his path. A hand-lettered sign proclaiming "AIR CONDISTIONED" was hanging next to a shop door. Without looking to see just what kind of shop it was, Cloud turned inside just to welcome the distraction.

It turned out, after all, to not be air-conditioned. He blinked as his eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight outdoors to the darker office he had just entered. It was tiny, with barely enough room for the little furniture that it had. A woman wearing white was sitting at a desk.

"Half hour?" she asked Cloud.

"What?" He had no idea what she was talking about, his mind happily completely cleared of the thoughts from just beforehand.

"We have quarter-hour increments." She pointed over her shoulder to a sign, hand-lettered in the same fashion as the one outside, explaining the pricing system. Apparently, the sign told Cloud, he had walked into a massage parlor.

"Uh..." Cloud thought it over for a minute. Being as tense as he was at that particular moment, he could do with a massage. He was uncomfortable, however, with the thought of a perfect stranger touching him. Or of any person touching him in that way, a way that seemed so intimate, even if it was just the shoulders.

The woman (a girl, really) smiled at him sympathetically. "You must be new at this. Come on back, I'll give you five minutes of my time and we'll see if you like it." She stood and approached him. Because he was still a little bit drunk, he let her lead him into a room just behind the front office.

The atmosphere was surprisingly clinical. The only piece of furniture in the room was an off-white doctor's bed. The walls were white. There was a small white cabinet on one wall.

"You can undress," she suggested plainly.

Cloud only nodded; he had no idea what he was doing. He tugged at his collar and found the tag sticking out in front of him; in his hasty changing in the closet darkness, he had put his shirt on inside-out. He seemed to remember Tifa laughing at him, but it was hazy.

The girl regarded him with a curious look as he modestly took his shirt off, hugging it close to his bare chest. "Do I...what do I do?" he asked her.

"Well," she said, beginning to unbutton her own white blouse, "those prices out there are just the base price. It costs more to touch."

"Tou...what?" Cloud was at a loss for words as she took her shirt off entirely displaying small round breasts in a black brassiere and a tattoo on her stomach that was, from the looks of it, from Golden Saucer. "What the...I thought..." Cloud stammered, turning his head away, his face burning.

"Hah," she laughed. "Did you think this was a _massage_ massage place?"

Cloud nodded grimly while averting his eyes, hating himself for his own stupidity. The wine's effects were nearly totally gone now, and he was petrified. What was this girl doing? Why did he come in here?

He could hear her laughing heartily. "Oh, wow. This is only the second time that this has ever happened. You're OK," she added hastily, seeing his woebegone expression. "It's OK, sugar. You're fine." By the time he cautiously lifted his eyes, her shirt was back on and an understanding, weary smile was on her face.

Walking outside, he realized that he had never been more mortified in his life. His previous thoughts regarding longing and Tifa and everything so muddled together were now more confusing than ever. He wondered idly, in the thoughts beside all of this anxiety, if that woman had known just how nerve-wracking that was for him.


	8. 8

Tifa glanced at the clock anxiously. Cloud's "walk" had started four and a half hours ago. Now it was almost 8:15, and she had opened the bar to three or four customers for the Monday slump. Every few minutes she tried calling his cellular phone, but he (unsurprisingly) failed to answer.

She was lonely here by herself, without even Denzel and Marlene to keep her company at the bar, doing their homework.

They had never had a moment like that before. Usually when they looked at each other, it was with a degree of understand, a shared history. He'd look at her with such trust in his eyes, with the security he felt in her presence, and the promise that he'd always have her back.

That afternoon was...strange. He had seemed like he had wanted to say something just before their eyes met. She thought back on her silly game of "make a muscle", superficially playful but in reality a method of inching ever closer towards him.

But Cloud wasn't a person you could get close to. She supposed herself to be the person closest to him, and she felt like they barely spoke. The best way to endear Cloud to you was to respect his distance, but that didn't help her in the least.

Ugh! Tifa didn't know what she wanted from him; she just knew that she wanted _him_. She had never dared, though, even after all these years. She didn't trust herself..._I'll just drive him away_, she thought. She was afraid to venture even, in her thoughts...

She allowed herself to imagine a Cloud without all of these neuroses, a Cloud who had grown up alongside her in Nibelheim and had had a normal adolescence. Maybe then he'd be less timid, more open to emotion.

She remembered finding him outside the train station. At first he seemed like a mirage; could it really be Cloud, this boy from her childhood, with whom she'd shared a passing acquaintance seven years before? Could this young man crouching on the platform with twitches and not a glimmer of sanity behind his blue, blue eyes be the same person?

Throughout all of their first journeys together, he had not been the same person. She wondered if she liked the real Cloud, bumbling and or if she liked his other persona, the joking, vain, and overconfident Cloud that wasn't really him.

That is, if he felt anything for her at all to begin with. She was filled with regret of having looked at him in such a startled manner and for having thereby scared him away. She wasn't sure if he'd even come home that night.

Seated at the bar that evening was the same gentleman from the night before, and his gaze hadn't changed. Tifa just sighed as he kept ordering the same again and not lifting his eyes. He usually came in three or four times a week, and he tipped well enough to excuse his lecherousness. Tifa's eyes surveyed the rest of the room: two young guys cracking jokes at the other end of the bar and a young couple sitting down at a table on a date, the girl adjusting her cleavage every few minutes when her man took a sip.

Tifa glanced at the clock uselessly and reached for her cell phone again.

Ring. Ring. A muffled sound, then a mumbled "hello?".

"Cloud! Where in the world are you?"

"I'm out. What's wrong?"

"Nothing..." Tifa answered, feeling embarrassed now for having called him so many times. "When are you coming home?"

"Whenever...I can come home now. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'll see you when I see you...get home safe." Tifa hung up and immediately wanted to break her phone out of frustration. Why did she care so much about him, about where he was? He was a grown man who could pass his evenings how he wished, he had no obligation to her...


	9. 9

Cloud closed his phone slowly, thinking about what had just happened. He couldn't concentrate very well, but he knew that Tifa needed him in some capacity. The thought both excited and confused him. Tonight was going to be the night he finally did something.

But do what, exactly? He supposed he'd figure it out by the time he got home.

He shakily set his glass down on the bar and grabbed a few crumpled Gil from his pockets, laying them on the counter. He didn't even know where he was, really; he had never been to this bar before.

Getting up to his feet, he looked around for anything he might have left. His brain felt blissfully empty of any rational thought. He had a vague idea of Tifa waiting for him, and he decided to hurry home. He left the pub and walked out into the now darkened street. Was it this dark when he came in? What time did he even come in, exactly?

A thought occurred to him that he should be able to present himself as being at least halfway sober, so he coughed, straightened himself, and began to walk at what he thought was a reasonable pace.

Passing by the late-night thugs and hookers (the latter he now eyed especially warily), he proceeded to immediately forget his resolution from moments before. He slunk through the streets, weaving a little. His feet, at the very least, seemed to know where they were going, and before too long he was coming upon familiar corners and usual street signs.

He passed an empty shop window, reflective of the harsh street lamps and of himself. Staring into the black interior, he locked eyes with his own reflection. His hair, as per usual, was a mess. Halfheartedly running a hand through it, he examined the rest of himself.

Cloud wasn't above the average person's vanities, and he was blearily self-conscious of the sweat accumulated under his arms and of the wrinkles in his shirt. At present, though, he was too drunk to hold onto these cares for very long. Little time passed before he began to wonder why he was standing staring into an empty shop window.

_Bad case of the tilts tonight_, thought Cloud as he covered one eye with his hand and tried to stop the street's spinning. A wave of nausea passed through him, and, for the second time that day, he clung to a wall for support. The nausea went away and he carried on, realizing suddenly that he was actually quite close to Seventh Heaven. Why was he rushing to see Tifa again?

Didn't matter. He wanted to get home; he wasn't feeling altogether himself. Just outside the door to the bar, he cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together. The kids weren't home, and he and Tifa would be alone. Tonight he would have to say something. He opened the door quietly and slowly, trying to carry a train of thought to fruition.


End file.
